Halloween - In the Wolf's Den
by ilurandir
Summary: What if things ended a little differently Halloween night.


"Hey," whispered Sam, both surprised and impressed by his ability to keep his voice so steady, and his ability not to just vomit everywhere in his fear. He'd never been so frightened in his fucking life. "How 'bout you take this, and we blow?"

"How 'bout no!" Brigitte hissed back, in the most condescending tone she could muster in a whisper. Sam dropped that idea fast.

"Then let me do it, you can hardly move."

"No," she repeated, looking up at him with a wild fierceness in her eyes, this tightly strung desperation. He wanted to shake her.

But there was no fucking reasoning with her, was there? She was one of the strongest people he knew, and he'd only known her for a fucking month. He thought perhaps if it was his- sister. Not that he had one - so, no - he had no idea how it must feel for her. he had no one he cared about that much except-

"You can't do this by yourself," Sam said, trying to find some way out of this fucking mess, trying to convince her just- not to go out there and get torn to pieces. Not to leave him here alone in this fucking pantry. Who ever died in a pantry? God, he couldn't fucking die here.

He had her attention now, but he wasn't sure if it was because she was pissed or not. He rushed to continue. "Let me take the needle. I'll go into the living room, you lead her in, bam, we're done."

The look they shared then went on forever. He knew it, the second he head her, though, and something in him changed, shifted. He felt sicker, he felt fucking overwhelming relief. He felt a ridiculous overwhelming urge to kiss her, and fuck the cure, and all the rest.

"Okay," she finally acquiesced.

He slipped the needle from her fingers. "Okay," he said, slipping it between his teeth. But as he reached out to push the door open, something in him screamed to stop. Wait. Wait. He turned the handle and the door clicked free. "All right, I'm going."

"Be careful," she said."

There were two options. He could man up and go out there, like he said. Like he said ten seconds ago no. Fifteen... twenty. Or he could-

He slammed the door shut again just as something roared and collided with the wood so hard it split. Brigitte screamed, the light went out. The needle slipped from his fingers, and the beast that had been a sixteen year old girl not half an hour ago- more or less- threw its bulk against the door over and over again and Sam pressed his hands over his face totally unable to draw breath, and didn't give a shit whether or not he looked like a complete pussy. It was fucking dark anyway.

And then, silence.

Just their breathing.

He felt her small, strong hand bat over his forearm, searching, and then close tightly around his wrist as though assuring herself in the darkness that he was there, that it was him. Her grip was vice-like despite the fact that she'd looked about to pass out a moment ago, and his breath suddenly rushed into his lungs like a sob and he caught her hand and let out a whispered stream of curses, and finally, "What the fuck do we do?"

No response from Brigitte.

That could have been it, he realised. He could have gone out there and been totally fucking mutilated. There was an unnerving silence in the little space. He couldn't even hear her breathing anymore.

"Fuckssake, Brigitte, say something, you're freaking me out."

"I'm freaking you out?" her fingers twisted, soft, under his hand and he moved to let go, embarrassed- he'd forgotten, and then said, "No, fuck that," and closed his fingers over hers tightly, and after a moment, her hand hung in his, limp and hot with fever, but she didn't pull away.

"I don't know what to do," Sam whispered, suddenly feeling like he was 13 instead of 23. He wiped his forehead with his free hand, and it came away damp with sweat. "Where's the needle?"

"I'll go," Brigitte said, as though she hadn't heard him at all. "She won't hurt me."

"No, are you fucking insane? She doesn't even know who you are anymore, Brigitte." His fingers found the needle and he caught it up. "Where's the fucking flashlight?"

A second, some fumbling, and then it flicked on, right into his eyes. He winced and ducked his head and she righted it. Her eyes were huge and dark in her face, and she was shaking hard, but her jaw was set.

"Give me the needle."

"Brigitte-"

"My- if my parents come home, they'll be-"

"If you go out there, you'll be killed. I'm not going to let that, happen, Brigitte." She met his eyes, and he twisted his hand, interlocked their fingers, and was almost pleased when, for a split second, she looked startled. Her hand was loose in his, and small, and he could feel the soft press of the scar, already healing, against his palm.

"We can't just sit in here forever-" she whispered

"Why not?" Sam hissed, back, although of course they couldn't. And he was pretty much all out of wit for tonight.

"I'll go." she whispered. "I'm fine- I'm fine now. I'll go."

"Are you even fucking listening to me?"

She reached for the needle and he pulled it back. Something in another, distant room crashed to the floor.

"She's not there now, let me go," Brigitte whispered desperately.

"I'm going with you," he said. Her eyes were wide and hard and she started to argue, then shook her head. Grabbing the needle from his hand in one swift gesture, and tugging her other hand free of his, she reached up for the doorknob. He reached for her, his fingertips brushing the inner lining of her coat, and pulled back a little too quickly. The door snicked quietly open once more and he did catch the back of her coat then, moving to kneel with her, and then finally follow her back out into the kitchen. They stood there, know, backs to the wall, armed with a fucking syringe full of a poisonous flower. How in hell was this going to work? Sam suddenly felt like they were playing a child's game, unarmed, unprepared- this wasn't a fucking movie, it wasn't a fairy tale. They weren't going to fucking make it. No way.

Fuck that.

He ducked back into the closet and pulled the last bottle of vodka from the shelf, wielding it by the neck like a club in his left hand. With his right, he caught hers again, and this time, she held on.

"Quiet," she whispered, and took one step towards the living room. When they got there, there were still feathers floating in the air and for some reason that unnerved Sam. Like maybe something had just been through here. Silent. Stirred them up again. For the fucking size of the thing, it sure was fast, and fucking quiet. How was it even possible for it to be so quiet? For several long agonising seconds all he could hear was his own heart. He squeezed Brigitte's hand.

"You know, maybe we should-" he began, but just then there was a scrabbling of long claws on tiles, and they wheeled around as one just as the best slammed, full force, its huge front paws on Brigitte's chest. It was so much bigger than her and they skidded along the floor. It had been the wrong target though- the beast had leapt before they'd turned, and Sam knew without a doubt that it had been aiming for him. It wheeled around now, its claws tearing strips from Brigitte's chest and stomach and faced him.

No, no, no, thought Sam, because there had been blood, but the beast had its eyes on him now. It was ugly as sin, all signs that this thing had once been a teenage girl gone from its face, from its wild yellow eyes. It lunged, then and without thinking, with only the rush of terror and adrenaline driving him, he did what he could, armed only with a fucking quart and nothing else. He brought the bottle down as hard as he fucking could on the wolf's head, and where it almost seemed as it it didn't even feel the glass shatter over its brow, it certainly fucking felt the vodka when it streamed into its eyes.

Sam stumbled as it lurched past him, holding half of the glass bottle-neck in his hand, the rest of it staining the carpet, soaking his jeans. The wolf shook its head, a low, unearthly sound came from it, one that shook deep in Sam's very bones. It was fucking furious, but it couldn't see. Still, it shook its head once more and focused on him as best it could, but he was only a blurry dark shape against the soft orange of the string up pumpkin lights hanging over the window.

"Brigitte," he gasped, half turning, and she met him halfway, shoved past him, and maybe she tripped or it was on purpose, but she was on her knees, slamming the needle home into the beast's neck. It wheeled on her and pinned her down by the throat with its jaws.

"No!" Sam cried out, and shoved it off. It just managed to keeps its feet beneath it, but it was different now, drugged. It staggered and then fell, the needle sticking straight up, and empty, from the fur at its ruff. Sam turned to Brigitte who was wide eyed and gasping, and bleeding through her coat, her sweater- Sam could see strips of her skin stained red, but otherwise alive, half sitting up.

She managed a wet, guttural sound in her throat and then, "Is she alive?"

"Breathing," Sam said.

Brigitte turned over and retched onto the carpet, bringing up only a string of bile that clung to her lips. Sam knelt by her, reached for her, pulled her hair over her shoulder. She wiped her mouth as she turned to him. "Fuck, are you okay? You're bleeding a lot," he breathed in a rush.

"It c-c-can't be wo-worse than- ah-" she said, her voice shaking so hard he could barely understand her. He'd knelt over her and unbuttoned her coat, pulling it open. He looked up and almost laughed when she looked just as terrified of him as she had of the wolf five minutes ago, and then he felt a little sick. He looked away, and instead pushed her hair away from her throat, and it was bruising and scratched, but no real harm done.

He looked over his shoulder at the Ginger-creature who was almost totally still, save the rise and fall of breath.

"Fuck, Brigitte, we have to do something."

"Ugh- no- I need to make sure Ginger-"

"Fuck Ginger, for a second, fuck," he said. "Fuck, we need to do something about this-"

"They're already healing," Brigitte said. "It doesn't even ah-" she winced when he touched her side, "-hurt anymore."

"Bullshit," Sam said, "Come on, up." He pulled her to her feet and helped her to the chair. "Light switch?" he said, scanning the walls. She pointed, and he went to flick it on. Everything looked so much worse with overhead lighting. There was dirt and fur, blood and bile. The huge hulking beast looked totally fucking unreal - huge and grotesque and- tits. Sam drew his eyes away. Brigitte's green sweater was practically soaked through.

"I should call an ambulance," he said, although he knew they couldn't do that. She would be a fucking medical oddity then, and who knew what they would do to her then. "Take this off," he said, pushing her coat from her shoulders, "come here."

She let him, half-gone. If she'd been about to pass out before, it was nothing compared to now. She was wearing a t-shirt underneath, too big and soft from wash and wear. Soaked now. He pushed it up to her sternum with shaking hands, and wiped at the blood with his hands, but she was right. It was just left-over blood. The gashes in her belly, across her chest were closing or closed, just droplets squeezing through now. "Fuckssake," Brigitte," Sam said, his voice shaking. "Fuckssake."

Behind him, the wolf began to convulse.

-

A/N: This will probably be continued sooner, rather than later - hopefully.


End file.
